Room for me, all of you, make me room!
Where the rifles clash and the cannon boom,
Where glory beckons or love or fame
I plunge me heedlessly in the game.
The old, the wary, the wise, the great,
They cannot stay me, for I am Fate,
The brave young master of all good play,
I am the spirit of Youth; make way!

Berton Braley.

From "Things As They Are,"

Copyright, 1916,

George H. Doran Co., Publishers.

IS IT RAINING, LITTLE FLOWER?

"Sweet are the uses of adversity." They bring us benefits not otherwise to be had. To mope because of them is foolish. Showers alternate with sunshine, sorrows with pleasure, pain and weariness with comfort and rest; but accept the one as necessary to the other, and you will enjoy both.

IS it raining, little flower?

Be glad of rain.

Too much sun would wither thee,
'Twill shine again.

The sky is very black, 'tis true,

But just behind it shines

The blue.

Art thou weary, tender heart?

Be glad of pain ;

In sorrow the sweetest things will grow

As flowers in the rain.

God watches and thou wilt have sun

When clouds their perfect work

Have done.

Anonymous.

GRADATIM

In the old fable the tortoise won the race from the hare, not by a single burst of speed, but by plodding on steadily, tirelessly. In the Civil War it was found that Lee's army could not be overwhelmed in a single battle, but one Federal general perceived that it could be worn down by time and the pressure of numbers. "I propose," said Grant, "to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer. It took more than a summer; it took nearly a year— but he did it. In the moral realm likewise, "All things excellent are as difficult as they are rare." Character is not attained overnight. The only way to develop moral muscles is to exercise them patiently and long.

EAVEN is not reached at a single bound;

HEAV

But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit, round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true:
That a noble deed is a step towards God,-
Lifting the soul from the common clod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by the things that are under feet;

By what we have mastered of good and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,
When the morning calls us to life and light,
But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night,
Our lives are trailing the sordid dust.

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray,

And we think that we mount the air on wings
Beyond the recall of sensual things,
While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings for the angels, but feet for men!
We may borrow the wings to find the way-

We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray; But our feet must rise, or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls;
But the dreams depart, and the vision falls,
And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit, round by round.
J. G. Holland.

From "Complete Poetical Writings,"
Charles Scribner's Sons.

RULES FOR THE ROAD

Ardor of sinew and spirit-what else do we need to make our journey prosperous and happy?

STAND straight:

Step firmly, throw your weight:

The heaven is high above your head,

The good gray road is faithful to your tread.

Be strong:

Sing to your heart a battle song:

Though hidden foemen lie in wait,

Something is in you that can smile at Fate.

Press through:

Nothing can harm if you are true.
And when the night comes, rest:

The earth is friendly as a mother's breast.

Edwin Markham.

From "The Gates of Paradise, and Other Poems,"

Doubleday, Page & Co.

LIFE

"What is life?" we ask. "Just one darned thing after another," the cynic replies. Yes, a multiplicity of forces and interests, and each of them, even the disagreeable, may be of real help to us. It's good for a dog, says a shrewd philosopher, to be pestered with fleas; it keeps him from thinking too much about being a dog.

THAT'S life? A story or a song;

WHAT'S

A race on any track;

A gay adventure, short or long,
A puzzling nut to crack;

A grinding task; a pleasant stroll;
A climb; a slide down hill;
A constant striving for a goal;
A cake; a bitter pill;

A pit where fortune flouts or stings;
A playground full of fun;—

With many any of these things;

With others all in one.

What's life? To love the things we see;
The hills that touch the skies;
The smiling sea; the laughing lea;
The light in woman's eyes;
To work and love the work we do;
To play a game that's square;
To grin a bit when feeling blue;
With friends our joys to share;
To smile, though games be lost or won;
To earn our daily bread;-

And when at last the day is done

To tumble into bed.

Permission of the Author.

From "The Philadelphia Evening Public Ledger."

Griffith Alexander.

HOE YOUR ROW

We must not dream of harvests and neglect the toil that produces them.

It is bad enough to cry over spilt milk. But many of us do worse; we cry over milk that we think is going to be spilt. In line sic such; 2, a' all; 3, nae no; 4, enow enough; 5, hae have; sturt-fret, trouble.

UT human bodies are sic fools,

BFor their colleges an' schools,

That when nae real ills perplex them,
They mak enow themsels to vex them;
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them,
In like proportion less will hurt them.
Robert Burns.